The Pale Bonsai
You will remember the weight of the machete, or rather, the sudden, terrifying lightness of it when the blade sheared off at the hilt, leaving you holding only the iron tang while the pale bonsai on the desk stood undisturbed, its roots splitting the oak floorboards with a sound like a bone breaking under a boot. I had driven from the retraining center in Aix, the truck’s engine coughing smoke...
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